


This is When You Say You Need Me

by enenrayokai



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Case Fic, Gen, Japanese Mythology & Folklore, Minor Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-12
Updated: 2016-08-15
Packaged: 2018-08-08 06:25:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7746613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enenrayokai/pseuds/enenrayokai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seven brutal murders bring Dean and Sam Winchester to the city of Phoenix.  A monster they've never faced before, that neither of them can see, will make them realize they are nothing without eachother.  A white rose, dark charcoal markings on the wall, and a body in pieces brings the brothers into the world of Japanese mythology.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Start to Something Crazy

Find the monster, kill the son of a bitch. Two easy steps bound for trouble. Nothing was ever that easy, not for the Winchesters. It was hardly ever that cut and dry. Life was messy, confusing; life was a whirlwind of inevitable chaos.

The start to a rainy Friday was the beginning of a new case. Dean was anxious to kill some SOB's and Sam- like usual- was quickly by his side. Another person killed, another place to be. It seemed their lives was just a never ending road trip.

It was the night before that the quaint home of Emma and Jonas Weatherly was brutally ransacked. Chairs broken, papers thrown about, blood everywhere, but most importantly, in the center of the bloody limbs sat an immaculate white rose. Striking in its contrast and bold in its appearance.

"Dean" Sam's voice shown with weariness, "I think I've got one." Sam's hair hung before his eyes, and every now and then Dean would watch as his brother cautiously swept the strands away. Sam's fingers would lightly drag across his temple in an attempt to pull back stray hair and clear his line of sight.

"Get a haircut Sammy," Dean called. His voice was gruff and steady. Only he didn't mean it. He liked when Sam's hair was long, he liked watching Sam finger through it. It was one of those stupid simple joys that Dean knew he shouldn't like as much as he did.

"Dean, seriously." Sam's voice was stern and taught with annoyance and it brought his brother to quick attention. They had found a new case. It was time to move on to yet another dirty, immensely cheap motel.

In the city of Phoenix, one Emma Weatherly had been cooking a birthday dinner for her husband. He was turning 28. She had barely finished the meal when all hell had broken loose. When she finally regained her composure, after a countless amount of time forgotten, she had looked around the see the place in shambles and her husband in so many pieces he was unrecognizable. A stark, white rose sat amid the mess.

Like anyone, she had immediately called the police, and in return they had arrested her on site. The case report would read, "Jonas Weatherly brutally murdered by wife," and would be signed off by officer Rick Gilmore.

Seven cases in total. All identical in MO and resolution. Seven people dead and seven widows behind bars. The thing that made these cases stand out was the lone white rose found in the middle of the chaos and the dark charcoal marks that lingered upon the walls.

Jonas' body had been torn apart and had been placed haphazardly within a single room of the entire house. Despite the entire home being left in pieces, the remains of Jonas would only been found in the one room that was accented with a fireplace. Upon the walls of that room would be black charcoal marks of various lengths, seemingly painting a picture of a dark figure.

It would be two days after the murder of Jonas that the Winchesters would arrive in Phoenix. The white rose, the markings on the walls, the body in pieces; those would be the foundation to a long and hard case.

On a sunny Monday morning, Dean and Sam found themselves standing in front of a prison. The prison that held Emma Weatherly.

"Sir, you can't just walk in there," the head guard called. Dean in return dipped his head in acknowledgement, flashed a badge, and kept walking. Sam followed closely at his heels. The guard in reply, stood abruptly from his seat and charged after them. "Excuse me, sir you need an appointment."

Sam turned slightly and smiled, "We're FBI. agent Jackson," he gestured to Dean, "and I am agent Hanson. We have an appointment to see Ms. Emma Weatherly." Stunned, the guard nodded and returned politely back to his chair. A smile crept onto Dean's features and he let out a slight chuckle. People were so easily fooled.

The two men walked briskly through a metal detector and entered a large room housing a little over a dozen chairs and a few tables. At a table in the far back of the room was a young blond. Her hair was tangled from poor care and her posture reeked of defeat. Her hands were placed upon the table in an awkward fashion, passively fighting with the metal restraints.

It was there at that table that the two men sat down.

"Hello, Emma Weatherly? I am agent Hanson and this is my partner agent Jackson, we're with the FBI. We came here to talk to you about the death of your husband, Jonas."

The young lady looked up and her eyes shown with fresh tears. Her skin was pale and accented with dark marks of what seemed to be charcoal. Her eyes were clouded and her face was gaunt.

"A monster did this," was her brief reply.


	2. A Precious and Treacherous Thing the Mind is

Emma had seen her fair share of horrors. It was as if she was living in another person's life. Time passed quietly, and it seemed that she had fallen into a never ending parade of impossibilities. Her head swam with clouded thoughts leaving her mind in a precarious place.

"Emma, would you mind telling us what happened to you and your husband?" Sam's voice was soft, hardly above a whisper. His eyes laid transfixed upon her features. Emma's eyes were dark with indifference and her face was a strange combination of angular planes. The once beautiful and carefree Emma was replaced by a shell of her former self.

"Anything you remember will help. Any strange smells or sounds?" Dean added. The young lady's head bowed in resignation and when she finally lifted her head to speak her voice was rough and soft from lack of use.

"I was making dinner. Jonas, he is turning," she paused in thought, "he was turning 28. I had started a fire, he always loved when we sat by our fireplace. Said it was cozier." Tears began to paint her features and fell carelessly to the floor. "After I got the fire going I," she stopped abruptly, "I just don't remember." Her tone had dropped in pitch and her head hung dismissively.

Blond hair hung feverishly around her face obscuring her expression. Sam leaned in for comfort, placing a gentle hand to rest on her shoulder. She melted into the touch. She looked up at the two men before her and new, unshed teared threatened to fall.

"Are you sure you don't remember anything after starting the fire?"

"I," she seemed to search Sam's eyes for some form of resolve before she continued, "you wouldn't believe me."

"Try me," was Sam's practiced reply. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth and his eyes shown with patience.

"After the fire was going strong, something happened." Both Sam and Dean nodded for her to continue. "The smoke began to built and it took on a human like form. The smoke, it attack us, it killed my husband. You have to believe me, please believe me." Her quiet tears became hysterical sobs and her voice began to increase in volume. "The smoke did it," she shouted. Her hands flew rapidly in grand gestures of description and her body was shaking.

It was then that a guard rushed forward to handle the grand display of crazy. Emma continued to thrash and shout as she was half guided half dragged away. With distance her frantic words died away. 

"We should check out the home." Sam voiced to Dean.

"You sure she's not just a load of crazy?" Dean responded skeptically. Their conversation was interrupted by a second guard who apologized for the inconvenience and led them back out of the prison, adding at the last moment that it would be best to leave Ms. Weatherly alone. She was in no state to be taking visitors.

The sun was being overshadowed by heavy clouds, causing the environment to be doused in dim light. The world seemed haunted. The air was brisk from the cool breeze and the dust underfoot was swirling with energy.

"Let's check the house, see if there's anything there we can detect. What are you thinking?" Dean's voice was quiet. Sam spared a glance at his brother and thought a moment.

He shook his head and said, "Hell if I know. Ghost maybe."

"Then what about the smoke? You thinking the ghost is somehow attached to smoke?" Sam shook his head and gave a shrug of his shoulders.

"Got any better guesses," Dean shrugged and Sam remarked, "didn't think so."

The drive was swift and pleasant. The Weatherly's had lived an hour from the prison.

The house was two stories tall and was painted a light brown with accenting dark brown trim. It was fitting in the desert climate. Rocks decorated the front lawn and a single tree gave a small haven of shade. The house had been empty ever since Emma had been placed in prison. The windows were dark and undisturbed. From the outside, the house looked normal.

The Winchesters entered the house to find the interior untouched since the crime. Splinters of wood caressed the floor and shattered glass and ceramic were spread about sporadically.

"I'll get upstairs," Dean called. Sam merely snorted in reply and continued to look around. When he reach the living room he called out to Dean.

"Dean, you're gonna want to come and see this."

Blood lingered across the floor and walls in long splatters of red droplets and small puddles of red. It seemed to be everywhere. The room looked as if it had seen a tornado. Broken chairs laced the floor, photographs hung extremely off kilter, and dark, black charcoal marks painted the walls and floor.

Dean approached the wall with carefully placed steps and lifted his hand to brush against the black marks. He brought his hand up to find it covered in char.

"Charcoal." Dean stated as he wiped his hand on his jeans. "Warm to the touch."

In reply Sam brought his hand up to gingerly touch the wall. Despite it being days since the murder, the dark marks on the wall still radiated heat. It seemed as if the marks on the wall had been permanently charred onto the surface.

Dried spots of blood gave general ideas of where all the body pieces had been lying and it seemed some undesirable bodily fluids and matter was still embedded into the floor. The smell was overpowering.

After another hour of searching the house and taking inventory of the numerous clues, the brothers left for their motel. The sun was setting in the west, coloring the sky with bright hues of red.

The place was small and poorly located. The building showed great wear from the long sunny days and the paint was peeling effortlessly off the walls. The doors were warped and the locks were more for mental safety rather than actually being able to keep people out, but the place had a bed. The room was spacious. Matted carpet covered the floor and different stains told different stories of various past occupants.

A small round table was perched at the far end of the room sitting adjacent from the door. Two beds sat parallel of each other on the opposite side of the table. The table was made of some hard wood and had been painted with stain years ago. The beds sat close to the floor and the bedside table between them was a matching set the table.

It wasn't much, but it was enough.


	3. One Spark and the Fire Will Burn to Your Soul

The night had been anything but peaceful. It was one in the morning when Dean's phone gave a loud shrill. The ringing penetrated the sleeping minds of the two hunters and it became the start of a long night.

"Hi, um, is this agent Jackson?" The tone was casual, nearly friendly and the brief uncertainty with the words seemed genuine. Dean's tired mind tried to place the name and his reply came a few seconds late.

"Yes, who's asking?"

"Oh right, yes, I am officer Rick Gilmore. I was told the FBI was checking out the Weatherly case, despite it being closed and all. Well, anyway, about an hour ago Emma Weatherly was found dead in her cell. She had been making a mighty loud ruckus and when the guards got to her she was dead. I thought you all would want to know."

"Yeah, thanks for letting us know." The final words were given and the call was subsequently ended. Dean tossed the phone back onto the table from which it had come and fell back onto the bed.

"What was that about?" Sam questioned.

"Emma's dead," was Dean's clipped reply. The night continued on in eerie silence and both men hardly slept. By morning, both were itching to get some headway with the case. It was going to be another rare, cold day in Phoenix, the sun was masked and there was a mass of grey clouds in the sky.

Emma was the only person who would be able to give them experienced based information. Out of the seven cases, all the accused and prosecuted widows were in a mental state so unsteady questioning was not a possibility. Both Dean and Sam had thought they had gotten lucky with being able to speak with Emma. They had been wrong.

Sam had gotten an early start to his day and had pulled out his laptop to do some research. Never before had they seen any crime scene quite like this one. After years of hunting, it was rare for them to find a creature they had never seen before.

The computer had been slow to start, but steady in its service. He had spent the last hour googling about anything he could think of that might be important to the case. All the results of each search came up with so much information it seemed he was drowning in it. Not enough information was deadly, too much information was meaningless.

Dean emerged from the shower with wet hair and a towel wrapped loosely around his hips, a second towel in his hands.

"Got anything," he inquired as he attempted to dry his hair.

"I've got a lot of things." He said in frustration. "I know white roses symbolizes purity or innocence, I know charcoal in a dream means you're going through a freakin transition, but I can't seem to find anything useful." The words came out rushed. Each note seemed to be extended through deliberate agitation.

"Dude relax, it's only nine in the morning."

"Don't tell me to relax," Sam bit out. Dean just shook his head in understanding and beckoned Sam to follow him. Sam followed his brother into a small reading room located within the motel. A steady fire was burning in the fireplace and the light crackle of the flames seemed to ease the tension.

Sam's shoulders fell back into an open position and his head eased back. Deep breaths filled his lungs and with each intake his body seemed to meld into the chair he was occupying. The room was small, with shelves of books clinging to the walls. The air was thick with smoke and the burning wood seemed to leave a trail of raw wood like smells.

"Alright, let's think about this. What do we know?" The words brought Sam out of his thoughts and he lifted his head so his sight leveled upon his brother.

"There was a white rose, almost like a centerpiece to the entire scene. Definitely important."

"Right, and all the seven crime scenes had one. They also all had the charcoal markings on the walls, which is interesting since all of the body parts were found in rooms with a fireplace."

The gears began to turn and it was obvious that both men were deep in thought when the fire's snapping and crackling started to increase in volume and intensity, before either could say a word, the room spun and the air became stale and smoky.

A dark mist seemed to replace the once invisible air and the dark particles spun with ill intent. Books were flung around, pages being torn out and chairs were flying into each other, the walls, and occasionally Sam or Dean. In no more than a few minutes the room was destroyed.

When the dust settled, the wake of the storm was obvious. Just like the crime scenes the room was a mess. As quickly as it had started it had ended and the fire was again a slow and entrancing flicker of oranges and reds. On the wall would be left charcoal black marking of what seemed to create a human like creature.

Just like at the Weatherly's home the dark swirling marks made a startling form. It was nearly human, but contorted in a fashion that made it seem more than human, more wistful and ominous. The room was giving off huge heat signatures and the brothers glanced heatedly at each other.

Despite physically being in the same room as what they assumed was the thing that killed Jonas and seeing what the figure must look like from the markings on the wall, neither brother could recall seeing such beast. It all just seemed more like a whooshing mess of flying objects and heavy smoke.

Realization dawned on Dean and he breathed, "Shit, we can't see this son of a bitch."

The case had just gotten a whole lot harder.


	4. When the Fire Starts to Burn, the Smoke Collects

"Refine the search Sam," Dean remarked. Sam was researching on his laptop with little success. "Add, that some people can't see it, include the white rose aspect, maybe put in something about the charcoal on the wall, and definitely put in that it has to do with fire."

Sam nodded his head in agreement and began typing. After a few moments he shook his head in dismay, "Nothing."

Dean was laying on his back with his legs crossed in front of him, a hard bound journal in his lap. The pages were worn and dirty, and the writing was irregular but readable. He flipped through the pages a few more times before the book was slammed closed.

"Maybe leave out the white rose and just put in it's meaning instead?" Dean inquired. Sam gave a jagged nod, causing his hair to fling about. His fingers graced the keys with an ease that came from practice, and Sam's head shot up with surprise.

"Got something. Not a lot of something, but more than nothing I guess."

"Gonna tell me," Dean bantered assertively.

"An enenra, it's a monster found in Japanese mythology. It is said to be made of smoke that takes the form of a human and is derived from fire. It says here," Sam glared pointedly at his screen," that it can only be seen by the pure of heart."

"You calling my heart not pure?" Dean countered playfully. Sam's eyes met his brother and his face showed frustration.

"Dean, come on. I think we've found the break we needed." Dean tipped his head forward in acknowledgement and allowed Sam to continue.

When Sam failed to provide more information Dean questioned, "Anything else?"

"Like I said, I don't have much. That's all I can find."

"Great, so we can't see it and we don't know how to kill it. We might as well not even know what it is," was Dean's clipped reply.

"It's better than nothing."

"Is it though," Dean countered. Sam bowed his head in resignation and left the conversation alone. The room fell into silence and the air seemed to still to a breathtaking halt. Everything stopped.

"There is one thing we could try," Sam offered. Dean gave a questioning glare and Sam continued. "Apparently, there is a man who is well knowledgeable in Japanese mythology and folklore. He's a professor at a university near here. Can't question the victims, might as well ask a professional."

The mood seemed to shift and Dean grabbed his jacket from its place on the end of the bed. Sam quickly followed, standing from his seat he filed out the motel door. Once in the impala, the engine roared to life and they were on their way.

The University of Arizona was a large school. The campus spanned a large amount of land and the buildings towered above the streets. People rushed around in constant motion, creating the feeling of urgency.

"You know where we're going?" Dean asked. Dean's tone was even; despite the fact his mind was elsewhere. His eyes wandered effortlessly to each passing student.

Sam watched as his brother eyed a few students and spoke, "Dean, there're seriously half your age. Chill."

Dean smirked mischievously and replied, "Your point Sammy?" They arrived at a door whose name plaque read, "Professor Jonathan Wilkes." They entered the room and was greeted by dozens of empty chairs.

In the far back of the room sat an older looking man. He had a well-groomed beard and wore glasses that hung loosely upon his nose. At the sound of the opening door he looked up questioningly. His gaze was guarded but gentle.

"Can I help you with something?" The professor's voice was calculated.

Sam spared a look at his older brother and approached the man cautiously. He kept a safe distance and noticed his brother was staying close to the exist, in case they needed to bolt.

The brother's shared a glance asking silently how they wanted to play this encounter. Were they going to be hunters to this man or FBI agents? Or neither?

"Um, hi." Sam began. "My brother and I are writing a paper on Japanese mythology and heard that you were the guy to speak to." The man nodded his head slightly.

"I am," was his brief reply.

"Right, well, we were hoping to talk to you about a monster called an enenra. We did some of our own research but it seemed thin." Sam's voice was hesitant but clear. The man nodded freely and a smile licked at his lips.

"Oh, yes. An enenra you say." He capped his pen and shuffled a few papers around his desk. A strange eagerness in his behavior. "That was a creature that intrigued me too, please come in and sit." He gestured to the chairs in front of his desk.

Sam walked forward and took a seat casually while Dean stayed back a few minutes longer before completely engaging and finding the chair beside Sam's. The professor's eyes sparkled with wonder and his expression became one of deep thought. Both brothers exchanged a brief look.

"An enenra is a nasty beast. It's known mostly for the horror it inflicts and the death it leaves in its wake. So little is known about it that many different directors and writers have tried to capture what it truly is through putting it into their works. You'll find and enenra named creature in a few movies and video games."

His gaze wandered slightly and it took a moment for him to find his focus. Before he could continue speaking, Dean added, "Do you happen to know how to kill it?"

"I only know of rumors. Granted all of this in merely theoretical."

Dean was growing impatient and demanded, "Yes, so how does one theoretically kill an enenra?" Sam glared at the back of Dean's head and was practically willing him to stop being so abrasive.

"Some say an enenra can never be killed, other argue the point; but, few can agree on a method. The most common one- and the easiest one- is to burn a fire, capture the smoke, and then ignite the smoke."

"Ignite the smoke," was Sam's reply.

"Yes. If you were to immediately blow out a candle and then hold a flame to the lingering smoke the candle would light again. In case of the enenra, you light the smoke without the intention of lighting anything else. Granted it's all just guesses."

Dean's face was skeptical. "And that's the easy way. Damn, I'd hate to hear about the other ways." Sam shot him a look and shook his head. In response Dean shrugged his shoulders and smirked relentlessly.

The conversation continued for a few more moments and was interrupted by a bell. The professor seemed shocked into reality and smiled curtly at the brothers. He kindly excused himself and left his number with them in case they had any further questions; he had a seminar to teach.


End file.
